


Prelude op. 28 no. 4 in E minor

by Eavenne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Classical Music, Classical References, Gen, Light Angst, Musical Instruments, Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 09:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: Austria plays the piano for Poland.





	Prelude op. 28 no. 4 in E minor

**Author's Note:**

> The piece in question is by Chopin (who is Polish). At his request it was played at his funeral.

The golden lights gazed silently down at them.

Austria took a breath, and closed his eyes. An indeterminable melancholy lapped gently against his heart; an ungraspable sadness pressed itself against his chest.

He opened his eyes. The gleaming, polished black surface of his grand piano looked quietly back at him.

And Austria played.

One single note, then another. His left hand brushed the keyboard, and his fingers calmly found their correct positions – slowly, then a little faster, they drummed out a gentle, mournful chord.

The melody sang on quietly, thoughtful in its simplicity. There was a meaning in each note, a longing, a yearning that had already been met with a sighing resignation. For a moment the chords stilled as that one lone voice soared for a few, fleeting seconds – but the moment passed and it dipped below the clouds once more, despairing at an inexpressible loss.

Austria played on. Something swelled within him, an ache, an agony, and all of a sudden the quiet sadness burst into sound and exploded in anger. The voice shouted its pain, vented its sorrow, wept bitterly for all that it had lost and all that it was about to lose –

But life would always be unfair.

Slowly, hesitantly, the melody circled back to a sighing, regretful calmness. It sank little by little, inch by inch – and stopped.

One chord. Another. One more.

A final cry – and the voice fell silent at last.

\---

Tears streamed down Poland's face.

Austria sat at the edge of his dark piano chair, and didn't say a word. They gazed at each other for a while.

Poland smiled.

"Thank you," he said.

And there was nothing left to say.


End file.
